Stay to the End
by tbazzsnow
Summary: A post-canon late night conversation between Baz and Simon. Some fluff, some angst. Lots of talk about vampires amd immortality.


**Simon:**

I have three more chapters to read tonight. I could get up early and do it in the morning but Baz and I both have late class on Thursdays. I'd much rather spend the morning sleeping late with Baz in my arms.

I'll just get the reading done tonight.

It's not late yet but Baz and I are already on my bed, my head resting on his thigh. He's running his fingers through my hair.

It's not as distracting as it used to be. It used to make me shiver and sit up to press my lips to his but now I just savor the moment.

I love it when Baz is soft. He's soft now, leaning back against the headboard, slender fingers running through my curls.

Despite my resolve to stay focused on my book I still dart a glance at him. He's got his phone in his other hand, flicking through his messages and whatever else has him occupied while I finish my class work.

"Eyes on the book, Simon," Baz says, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow. "I've told Bunce I'm not a distraction and I would hate to be proven wrong."

His fingers tighten in my hair momentarily and he gives me a little shake. "Focus."

"Fine." I drop my eyes back to the sentence I've read three times already but within a few moments I manage to be occupied by the story once more.

I'm almost finished when Baz barks a laugh and I look up again.

"Sorry," he says, waving his phone at me. "Fiona's in Prague," he explains, tilting the phone down so I can see the photo of her in front of a brightly painted and graffitied wall.

"What's that?" I ask.

"It's the John Lennon wall. I should say it used to be the John Lennon wall. It was painted over a few years back but Fiona had to make a pilgrimage anyway. Looks like Lennon is back, after all."

Fiona was posed in front of the wall, a portrait of Lennon above her shoulder, the white streak in her hair covered by a black hat. Combined with her all black outfit she made a stark contrast against the vibrantly hued background.

"So, Prague this time?"

Baz nods at he as he flicks through the rest of Fiona's photos.

"Not keeping a low profile, is she?" I say.

He gives me a withering look. "When have you ever known Fiona to keep a low profile?" He shakes his head. "No, she plays the part, gets attention and then Nicodemus sniffs out the vampires for her and she gets the job done."

A somber expression flashes across his face. He masks his features quickly but I know Baz. He can't fool me.

"Stop it," I say.

"Stop what?" he snaps.

"Thinking. Stop thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about. I know that's what you're doing, Baz. Stop it." I close my book and sit up, shifting around on the bed until I'm sitting next to him.

I bump his shoulder. "She's not killing them, you know that."

Baz rolls his eyes at me then leans his head back against the headboard. The line of his neck is on display. He's like statue, Baz is, carved in pristine marble.

He's so beautiful. He always has been. It just took me awhile to appreciate it.

Baz huffs and his hair lifts with the exhalation. "No, that's right. She's _rehabilitating_ them."

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

The Coven had been rightly horrified that the Mage had used the vampires to get to Baz's mom. Mortified that he had entered into a protective agreement with them in exchange for their actions and subsequent silence.

It wasn't quite fair to root them all out now and set them aflame when the Mage had granted them immunity for following his orders. He had been the head of the Coven at the time. False or not, he had spoken with that authority.

So the Coven had reached a compromise with the vampires. In exchange for their survival unscathed the vampires would forego turning new quarry. The Coven would assist them in procuring non-human sustenance and the vampires would cease their human hunting and converting.

It was a tall order. Not all the Families were comfortable with it and a fair share of the vampires weren't either. It was based on a lot of trust and communication—two things that had never easily coexisted between the Magic world and the vampires.

Not a perfect solution but it spared them their lives and prevented a rise in the vampire population at the same time. The idea had merit, even I could see that.

But so far it was only successfully being implemented in the UK. Fiona was the emissary to other vampire enclaves and Nicodemus was the middleman.

I wasn't actually quite sure how they were working it all out but as long as the vampires weren't murdering people anymore or turning them, then it was fine with me.

Baz has mixed feelings about the whole endeavor.

He's much better than he used to be, mind you, only rarely getting into dark moods about being a vampire anymore.

It's still gets to him sometimes though. His mother's death is a large part of why. No matter what Fiona and Mr. Pitch tell him I think a part of Baz will always believe his mother would have rather seen him dead than turned.

I think that's rot. She may have killed herself rather than be turned but I know she would never have killed Baz. Never.

I still remember her face, her voice, that ghost kiss on my forehead.

Natasha Grimm-Pitch came back to him. To Baz. Not Fiona. Not Mr. Pitch. _To Baz_. The person she loved most in the world.

I've told him this. More than once. He nods his head and lets me say it but deep down I know he doesn't let himself believe it.

He's quiet now, eyes closed. I rest my head on his shoulder and feel his arm slip around my waist.

I move closer, turning so I can bury my face in his neck, knees pulled up and my arm across his chest. "I love you," I whisper.

I feel his lips brush my forehead. "I love you too, Simon."

We sit like this for a time but I can't relax.

There's a question I've had for a long time. I think I know the answer but I've never managed to get an answer on it from Baz.

I haven't had the courage to ask Fiona. She still intimidates me.

I won't ask Nicodemus.

* * *

 **Baz:**

I know Simon hates it when I get like this. It usually ends with him kissing me to make me stop. I don't mind that actually. It does make me stop. And I like kissing him more than anything.

But he's not doing that tonight.

Simon is curled up into my side, face buried in my neck (he loves my neck) (you'd think he was the vampire with his neck fascination.)

He's tense. Usually he just melts into my arms when I hold him like this. But not tonight. Something's on his mind. I just have to wait for him to get it out.

I know how he is. Eight years of watching him at Watford and now two since we've been officially together. I know how he breathes, I know his expressions, his movements. I've studied him in more detail than any textbook. I may be the world's leading expert in Simon Snow.

Scratch that. I am the world' leading expert in Simon Snow. Bunce might argue the point but I have the advantage of eight years of living with him. And loving him.

I slip my fingers under his shirt and he jumps at the chill but burrows in all the closer, face still nuzzling my neck. His arm is taut across my chest.

"What is it?" I ask.

He rubs his head against me. "Want to ask you something," he mutters but I can hear him.

"Ask away, love."

"Has Fiona . . ." He pauses, his hand clenching my side before he continues.

I have to be patient. The more vulnerable the question makes him feel the harder it is for him to get it out. I brush my lips against his forehead again, breathing in the clean scent of him. "Has Fiona what, love?"

He huffs against my neck, hot air wafting against my skin.

I know how he feels now. I want to stop him thinking whatever it is that's upsetting him. I should kiss him.

It's what he does to me.

I should just kiss him.

I put my free hand on his jaw, preparing to tilt his head up, when he speaks again.

"Has Fiona found anything out?"

I blink. "Found anything out about what?" I ask.

He squirms and then continues. "About the vampires. Has she learned anything from them. That could help you?"

Help me? I don't follow him. There's nothing that can help me, nothing that Fiona can learn that will make a damn bit of difference.

Nothing made a difference. None of the healing spells she and my father bombarded me with after it happened. They didn't change a thing.

Unbidden the memory of Simon's magic coursing through me, in the burning wood near my home, comes to me.

What could their spells have done if they'd had access to Simon's magic, I wonder.

It's a stupid thought. I tell myself that immediately. Simon hadn't even come into his magic then—it wouldn't have been possible.

But now I can't stop thinking about it—of the clean, powerful enormity of his magic, Simon's magic, the power that was an unending stream when I had tapped into it those few times. Enough magic to fill the emptiness of the Humdrum, drown the void within him.

Could Simon's magic have been powerful enough to burn the vampire taint from my blood?

I shake my head. What am I doing? It's a stupid thought and I'm an idiot for even entertaining it.

* * *

 **Simon:**

He's lost in thought. He hasn't answered me so I try again.

I am shit with words. Most of the time. Almost all of the time, if I'm being honest. Penny and Baz know me well enough that I muddle through with them but I'm being unclear as usual tonight.

I shift and bring my head up to meet Baz's eyes. And I stop.

He has the oddest expression. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is too, as if he's poised to say something. But he doesn't speak.

He looks surprised I'd say.

He blinks a few times. "What were you saying? About Fiona?"

I push the words out. No holding back. "Has she learned anything—from Nicodemus or the other vampires—about immortality? If it's true."

If anything, Baz looks even more surprised.

"What? Why on earth would she do that?" he asks.

"Well, I think it might be important to know, if she's negotiating with them. It's a fast road to extinction if they aren't immortal and can't turn anyone," I point out.

"Sounds like a solid plan to eradicate the problem of them," Baz says, frowning at me.

I sit up. "Well, they're bloody well not going to agree to anything if they're not only going to lose their hunting options but also their very society and culture as well."

His eyebrows go up. "Are you seriously concerned about vampire society and culture, Snow? What the actual fuck?"

"Simon," I correct him. Baz reverts to calling me Snow more when he's frustrated with me. I keep talking. "I just don't see how the Coven gets them to comply or how it's advantageous to them at all if it's basically the extermination of their kind. If they can't even turn people and they're mortal then this plan assures they are the last generation of vampires. They won't agree to that! Who would?"

"I would," Baz says. "I'd agree to that. They've had a good run. Time to let it all burn."

"Yes, but you're not a typical vampire, are you?" I say, warming to the subject now. "You already restrict yourself to pests and livestock and you refuse to turn anyone. They have to have some reason why they're willing to agree to something so restrictive."

My mind is racing now as I realize something. "Wait, now," I say to Baz, cutting him off with a gesture of my hand. I need to think this through before I speak again.

I kneel in front of him. It makes sense now, it makes so much sense. This is why the Coven is taking this route. This is why Fiona is tasked with reaching out to vampires across the world.

The pieces fall into place.

"It proves that you're immortal," I say. "It's why they're agreeing to it, don't you see? Because this plan won't erase them, won't obliterate them from the world. It's the only way it makes any sense. They're immortal—they don't really _need_ to make new vampires."

I lean into him. "You're immortal, Baz. You must be."

* * *

 **Baz:**

I stare at Simon for a moment before I realize my mouth is hanging open. I snap it closed as soon as I do. I've seen that look on Snow's face and I'm sure it looks no better on mine.

My mind is spinning, my thoughts swirling around the assertion he's just stated.

I try to avoid thinking about this for just this reason. It brings too many other thoughts and makes my chest tight.

I don't want to be immortal. I don't want what he says to be true.

If it is true it means I'm doomed to be alone. Forever.

* * *

 **Simon:**

My realization, blurted out like that, has anything but a rousing effect on Baz. It's a shock, I'm sure, to realize that what we suspected might actually be true but I didn't expect the despair that I see in his eyes, as understanding of what I'm saying comes over him.

Baz looks like he did that night in the forest. The night I first kissed him to wipe that look away. I don't like it.

It terrifies me.

I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes. I can't bear to see that desperation in him. It swallows me whole.

I reach my hand out and press it to his chest. "It's not a bad thing, Baz," I whisper. "Most people would . . ."

He cuts me off, eyes narrowing. "I'm not 'most people'," he snaps. "I don't want it. I don't want any of it."

He's snarling now. I haven't heard him like this in a long time.

"Baz," I say, putting both hands on his chest, just like I had in the forest. But there's nothing I can push into him now. I can only use my words. "It's immortality. It's incredible. It's a gift."

He shoves my hands off and turns away from me, sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor, chest heaving. "It's a curse. Can't you understand that? It's a _curse_!" He spits the word out. He's so angry and I don't know why.

Nicodemus went to the vampires for this. It's been a dream of humanity for ages—the Fountain of Youth, the Holy Grail. Mankind has been searching for it since the dawn of time.

And Baz has it.

* * *

 **Baz:**

I'm practically vibrating with fury. I don't want Simon to be right. I don't want to follow his logic to its conclusion. I don't want to _know_.

I don't want to be this.

I don't want to be alone again.

* * *

 **Simon:**

I shuffle across the bed until I'm next to Baz and I wrap my arms around him. He's stiff at first but I just keep holding him, nuzzling kisses into his neck and murmuring to him.

I don't even know what I'm saying. "It's all right," over and over starts to lose coherence and become just sounds.

He's taut and unyielding until suddenly he isn't anymore. He falls into me and I realize he's crying.

Baz doesn't cry easily. In all the years I've known him I've only seen him do it a few times.

I never meant to make him cry. I hate upsetting him like this. I rub circles onto his back, my one hand drifting up to slide into his hair.

"It's all right, Baz," I whisper again.

His head rears up and his eyes blaze at me.

"It isn't," Baz says. "It isn't all right. Nothing is all right without you."

"I'm right here," I say. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Baz pushes me away and drops his face into his hands. "But you won't be," he says, his voice muffled by his hands. "You won't be and I'll be alone again."

And then it hits me. I feel chilled, as if I'd been doused in the moat

He's right. He'll live forever.

But I won't.

* * *

 **Baz:**

I can tell when it registers; Simon's body goes rigid and he pulls back, landing heavily on the mattress.

I can't believe it's taken him this long to understand.

Well, yes, actually I can believe it. Simon's brilliant in so many ways but not always at confronting the obvious. It tends to elude him.

From the expression on his face now it eludes him no more.

His blue eyes are wide open. His mouth is too, not that that's unusua (mouth breather) but it's the appearance of him that lets me know he's finally understood. Dismay is written across his features.

I sigh and reach out for his hand, pulling it towards me and gripping it tightly.

I try to gather myself together. This weeping mess is just unacceptable. Not to mention embarrassing. _Pull it together, Pitch_ , I tell myself.

"Don't get me wrong, Simon. I promised I'd weep over your corpse. But I don't want to have to."

Fuck it. I can't be blasé about this. It's too important.

My hands are gripping his so tightly my knuckles are white. Whiter than usual, that is. "I don't want to," I say again. "And I won't. I'd rather let it all go up in flames than be without you."

Simon's head snaps up at that, an incredulous look on his face. "You can't be serious," he says.

I frown. "Of course, I'm bloody serious. I wouldn't make light of something like this. When you go, Simon, I go too. I told you once this would all end in flames. I'd rather that than the alternative."

He drops my hands. "You wanker," he fumes. "You absolute twat."

I gape at him. It's becoming an unfortunate habit tonight and I try to collect myself. "What the hell, Simon? I'm the wanker? Just because I can't contemplate an existence without you? You gormless twit—it means I love you so much, you utter plonker. So much that I don't want to live without you!"

"You don't have to," Simon all but shouts. "You don't have to, you stupid tosser. You just turn me and we're together forever. I've told you that."

Bloody hell. I should be ashamed at how many times I've gaped at him tonight, like a fucking muppet.

He's the muppet. What sort of tripe is he spouting?

"I've told you," I sputter. "I'll never do it. I'll never bite someone and I bloody well won't turn someone. Not anyone and especially not the person I love!"

"Well then I'll find someone else to do it!" he shouts.

I am surprised Bunce hasn't burst in on us yet. I grab my wand from the bedside table and mutter " **Wall of Silence** " just in case.

"Someone else?" I hiss. "You'd let someone turn you into a vampire? Really, Snow?" My breathing is coming fast. I feel betrayed, broken. I'd do anything to not be this way. How can he be so cavalier about turning?

"If it meant you'd never have to be alone I would do it in a heartbeat, Baz," Simon says, his eyes flashing fire at me. He'd be going off now if he still had his magic.

His wings and tail are all he has left of it and his tail is lashing about wildly. His wings are flapping so hard it nearly upsets the lamp. He's kicking up such a breeze that it makes my hair swirl around my face. I sweep it away and glare right back at him.

He softens first, his fire dimming as he reaches for me. "I'd do anything for you, Baz," he says softly. "Even that."

Simon crawls over to me and drops his head in my lap, arms clutching my waist. "I don't want to have to leave you, ever. I told you." He's mumbling now. "I told you—turn me and we can be together forever. I'd want that."

I stroke the hair off his forehead, squeezing my eyes shut.

I want it too. I want it and I hate myself for wanting it.

Simon's been alone his whole life. Penny and I are all the family he has. I don't want to be alone, without him.

And he feels the same. He knows what that's like. The realization that he fears leaving me as much as I fear him leaving is daunting.

He turns his head to look up at me. Simon's eyes are wet and I realize I'm crying again too. "I wouldn't want anyone else to do it, Baz. I trust you. More than anyone. But I know it would hurt you to do it." He blinks up at me, his face gone splotchy with emotion now.

I run my fingers across his cheek, sweeping tears away. "I don't want to cry over your corpse," I say.

"Then don't," he whispers. "I don't want to be cried over. I want to be like this." He sits up and crawls onto my lap, straddling my legs. "With you, Baz. Forever."

Crowley, I'd give anything to be with Simon forever.

Anything. Would I be willing to do this? Could I bring myself to do it?

Simon brings his hands up to cup my face. "You don't have to do it now," he says. "But promise me you'll do that before you set it all aflame, yeah?" His lips touch mine and he leans his forehead to rest against my own. "I want you to do it. Promise me, Baz. Someday."

I inhale sharply and close my eyes. He's offering it willingly and I am so very tempted to promise.

"Promise me, Baz," he says again, his voice sharper. My hands tighten around his waist.

He'd do it, the bastard. He'd let someone else turn him, if I won't do it. Well, I'm bloody well not having that.

I open my eyes to meet his.

Simon is smiling, a soft fond smile that makes me want to promise him anything. Everything.

"All right," I whisper.

"All right, what?" he asks. Because he's a twat, making me say it like this.

"All right, I'll do it. When the time comes, I'll do it." That leaves me with some room to maneouver.

He's not having it. Simon's hands tighten in my hair. "I think you mean when I'm ready."

"What?" I protest but his lips latch onto mine and silence me.

He finally pulls back and tightens his fingers in my hair again. "When I'm ready, Baz. I don't intend to let you wait until I'm an old man." Simon narrows his eyes at me. "If you get to spend eternity ageless and fit then so do I."

I shake my head at him. "That's not how it works."

"How do you even know?" he asks. "You didn't even want to believe it five minutes ago and now you're the expert?"

"I am the expert, seeing as I'm the vampire here." I frown at him. "I'm not frozen at the age I was turned, am I? I'll age eventually, I'm sure."

I'm not sure.

Now that I think about it I can't make any sense of it at all. Fucking vampires and their life spans.

I've aged since I was turned. I'm not five years old anymore. Nicodemus has too. So it's not eternal youth, that much is obvious.

"What?" Simon says. He looks perplexed. "What are you going on about?"

"I'm saying it's eternal life perhaps but not eternal youth. I'm not five years old still. I'm twenty. I look twenty." I knit my brows.

"It must just slow things down then," Simon says. "Maybe once you've hit a certain age you just stop? Nicodemus doesn't look like he's aged much from the old photos Fiona had."

Even vampires can get headaches it seems. This whole conversation has given me one.

I scoot back up the bed and lean against the headboard. "Come here," I say.

Simon gives me a dubious look but he scoots up next to me despite it and I take him in my arms.

I speak slowly, trying to organize my thoughts as I do.

Crowley, I'm turning into Snow.

"I can't promise when I don't know what it all means," I finally say. Simon goes to sit up and start arguing but I hush him and tighten my arms around him as I keep speaking. "But I'll give you my word that I'll get an answer for us," I say.

"And then?"

"Crowley, Snow! What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say you won't be weeping over my corpse," he says stubbornly. "That whatever the answer is, we'll be together. We'll decide together."

I sigh. "Fine."

"Fine, what?"

"Fine, Simon," I grit out. "We'll decide together and the goal is to be together."

"And you'll not wait until I'm all bald and mangy to do it," he adds.

"Oh, all right, you absolute muppet! All right. Whatever it takes to get you to shut up about it," I grumble.

Simon grins at me. "I thought by now you'd have figured out how to make me stop talking, Baz." He's got a cheeky look to him but he's blushing all the same.

"Indeed, I do," I say and proceed to prove it to him.


End file.
